


Like a thief in the night

by loveinadoorway



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2079480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinadoorway/pseuds/loveinadoorway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I promised I would write something for tumblr's lovely villain-lover aka River_wants_her_master - anything, really, even something totally not my pairing - and she suggested I watch this video:<br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6OH-nPEEtNc">The Visitor</a></p><p>I did, like a good girl. And then this happened.</p><p>I don't usually write non-con. This isn't terribly explicit and there is no penetration, but if that sort of thing troubles you, this is not your ficlet, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a thief in the night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [River_wants_her_Master](https://archiveofourown.org/users/River_wants_her_Master/gifts).



He couldn’t stop thinking about it. How it had felt, wandering around the empty flat, looking at Sherlock’s things, touching what Holmes had touched, smelling what Holmes had smelled.

Yeeeeees, in a lesser man than himself, one might see it as a weakness, the way he wanted closeness, craved a connection. But everybody knew that Jim Moriarty was above such base things as pining for somebody. This was a different animal altogether. He needed to know as much as he could about his nemesis and hence he needed to be… inside Sherlock’s brain, as it were.

And if the stroll through the other man’s life had aroused him, well, he was a bloody CRIMINAL, for fuck’s sake, and he had committed a CRIME, hadn’t he?

And if he touched himself as he remembered the way the expensive sheets had felt against his naked body, well, he was a very SENSUAL guy and the silk had felt… sinfully good.

So, when he went back there a few days later, this time in the still of the night, it was just what a criminal mastermind like him would do. Test the limits of what he could get away with just a liiiiiittle bit further. By standing in the deep shadows of Sherlock’s bedroom, watching his nemesis sleep.

And there was bloody well nothing wrong with taking those final two steps towards the bed, pressing his right hand over Sherlock’s sinful, filthy mouth and his left hand over the waking man’s cock and whispering into his ear “Wakey-wakey, Sherlie!” as he rutted against the body below him.

Sherlock came fully and violently awake; Jim could feel it happening in the sudden surge of energy, in the spasm of resistance under his hands.

“One sound, just one and I make sure John Watson will find out how you feel about him,” he hissed, shifting his weight on the taller man’s body to pin him down more effectively.

All movement stopped.

Ah, the magic words, or so it would appear. Jim grinned widely and whispered: “How do you think the good doctor would like a little video of you, screaming his name as you fuck yourself on entirely too many fingers for the good, asexual boy you claim to be, hm?”

Jim pressed down brutally on Sherlock’s cock and ground out “HMMMMMM?”

In the dark of the room, Sherlock’s eyes showed way too much white as he angled his hip upwards, pushing his cock against Jim’s relentless, waiting hand in silent consent.

“Lie still, slut,” Jim pants, not even recognising his own voice as he pulled out his straining cock from his pants and started stroking himself furiously.

Those white, wide eyes trained unerringly on Jim’s face, the thief in the night brought himself to completion faster than he ever had before.

He made sure his come splattered all over Sherlock’s face, then he pressed a hard, closed-mouth kiss on unyielding lips and melted back into the shadows.

On his way home, a part of him relished in the way he had debased Sherlock motherfucking Holmes like this.

Another part of him, however, felt a gnawing ache that he shoved ruthlessly back into the darkest recesses of his mind.  
He had no use for that shit.  
He was Jim Moriarty, Criminal Mastermind Extraordinaire.

He took without asking. That was his style. Consent was neither needed, nor desired.

Not even from THE man.


End file.
